


sing back at a bird

by stuffandsundry



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Birds, Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, well! i hope it is anyways!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffandsundry/pseuds/stuffandsundry
Summary: (set a little bit before the match with sakitama)an overnight storm, an unexpected guest, and feelings that takaya abe can't put a name to
Relationships: Abe Takaya & Mihashi Ren
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	sing back at a bird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadisthetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadisthetic/gifts).



"All right, let's wrap it up early today. Good practice, everyone!" Momoe claps her hands together. "Remember to go straight home, alright? There's supposed to be a pretty bad storm in a bit!"

"Ah! Really?" Tajima squints at the cloudy sky as he holds out a hand. He starts waving it wildly. "Hey, I don't feel any rain, though!"

Mihashi squeaks as he ducks under a particularly wide swing, and Tajima stops immediately to leap over and start giving Mihashi a noogie.

"…the storm's not going to start right after someone says it'll rain," Hanai points out. "You've been reading too much manga."

"Wow, how'd you know?!"

"Oi, didn't you hear the coach?" Takaya says, annoyed. He glances over at Mihashi. "Pack it up! Some of us don't live a minute away from the school, you know?"

"Ah! Huh? R-right! I'm going!" Just like he always does, Mihashi leaps to some panicked conclusion faster than Takaya can react and starts sprinting off into the distance, like a nervous bird taking flight. "See you tomorrow..!!! Bye!"

"Geez, Abe-kun, lay off him a bit." Tajima rolls his eyes and hits Takaya in the shoulder. "Maybe try to compliment him once in a while, y'know?"

"I wasn't trying to…!" Takaya cuts himself off.  _ Was _ that too—? "Whatever. I'll tell him…"

Tell him  _ what? _

Damnit. Takaya scowls as he suppresses the feeling of annoyance. Well, it's no big deal. He'll figure this out by himself.

* * *

When Takaya gets home, everyone's rushing around taping down all the windows and filling up the bathtub with water and making sure the flashlights have working batteries in them, because apparently, the storm got upgraded to a typhoon while he was at practice. He barely has time to drop his schoolbag before he's dragged into storm prep with the rest of his family.

And now, lying in bed, it's way too loud to sleep. Whoever said rain was good white noise obviously never had to try to sleep through a fucking typhoon. It's not  _ just _ the rain. Once in a while— usually right when he's just about to drop off, Takaya thinks uncharitably— there'll be a sharp TAK of debris  hitting the window .

_ Thump. _

Oh, that's a new one. It's a lot heavier sounding, too, almost like a wet rag  being thrown at high speed . What if someone forgot to bring their laundry in? Takaya makes a face. He doesn't want to wake up the next morning to have to scrape someone's underwear off the windowsill.

Augh, this is bugging him. It's probably better to wait for the storm to blow it off, but the thought that there's something stuck there at all is… really annoying.

Maybe if he hits the window just right, it'll fall off?

Probably not, but it's not as if staying in bed is doing any good for him anyways.

Takaya gets up, and opens the curtain. The rain is falling so thickly that he can barely see the dim orange of the streetlights, much less the houses across the streets, but that just means that the lump of burnt orange squished into the corner of his windowsill stands out even more. He squints at it.

Ah.

_ It's a bird, _ is Takaya's first thought, followed in quick succession by _ it sure made a big sound when it hit the window  _ and  _ it can't fly in this. _

Is it even still alive?

Takaya taps the glass, right over the area the bird is plastered against. It twitches its head up, revealing a half-closed, shining black eye.

Takaya starts.

He  _ knows _ that it's just a bird, but— 

"What the hell," he mutters to himself as he reaches for the corner of the tape on his windows. "I'm gonna get in so much trouble for this."

* * *

The bird is very still and cold in Takaya's palms. It's dripping all over his floor. His mom's going to be pretty mad about that tomorrow, but whatever. He can clean that up.

…It's not moving. Takaya can't really feel a heartbeat on the bird— not that he knows how to find one, and anyways it was cold outside, so his fingertips are numb— shit, is it dying? This was a terrible idea. It's so small and maybe it's  _ dying _ and Takaya doesn't know how to take control of this situation.

He— he should dry it off. It's just cold. Right, small steps. Takaya digs in his closet for an old tshirt. His hands are shaking a little bit. It's because of the chill, he tells himself.

"Hey, c'mon," he hisses at the stupid thing as he pats it down. "Come on, stupid!"

"Are you gonna let a little rain kill you? That's pathetic—woah!"

It shudders in his hands, and Takaya nearly drops it.

"Okay," he says. "Not dead."

That's great, but he still has no idea how to take care of a bird. But— it’s alive, isn’t it? 

Takaya turns on his desk lamp and looks the bird over with a critical eye. Does it have any broken bones? The wings seem fine, since they're folded all neatly at the bird's sides. It doesn’t react when he squeezes them gently, either. He flips it over, and checks its legs. If there was something noticeably wrong then Takaya’s pretty sure he could cobble a split together out of some sports tape and a pencil, but thankfully, the legs are… straight enough? Probably. Anyways, he’s not messing with those if he doesn’t need to.

He wraps its wings up firmly in the sleeve of his t-shirt, just in case it suddenly comes to its senses and panics. No sense in getting mauled by a bird the size of his hand.

“I wish it was as easy to deal with Mihashi as it was to deal with you,” he mutters absently. If he could just roll him up from head to toe in a— a futon, or something, so that he can’t get away. The corners of Takaya’s mouth twitch up. He can almost imagine it in his head: Mihashi’s light, fluffy hair poking out of layers and layers of cloth, and of course he’ll be making that surprised chick look on his face with wide eyes, and probably stammering something so hard that nobody but Tajima can catch what he’s saying. And then Takaya will tuck the corner of the futon in so it won’t come undone, and then he can— 

And then he can  _ what? _

His hands pause. What the hell is he thinking?

Stupid.

* * *

An hour later, the bird’s still asleep and Takaya  _ isn’t,  _ even though he’s trying his hardest.

Ah, how annoying. He shouldn’t have started thinking about Mihashi, because now he can’t stop. It’s like picking at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. Now he’s noticed that it’s there, it’s going to bug him unless he yanks it out or cuts it off. And Mihashi is probably the worst loose thread that Takaya has ever seen. 

It’s a terrible way of putting it, but it’s true. Mihashi is like… if some spirit plucked Takaya’s every secret prayer for a pitcher right out of his head and shoved them all into the most annoying person alive. 

Mihashi drives him  _ crazy. _

And yet, that’s not… well. He doesn’t hate him, at least. Takaya knows what hate is, and he pretty sure doesn’t feel hate for Mihashi. Frustration, though? Sure, all the time. Every time they speak, even. Because Mihashi is… 

Abe rolls over and his gaze falls on his desk, and the white bundle that he knows is atop it. 

Ah, that’s it, he thinks. 

It’s like he’s trying to talk to the bird. Actually, hadn't Shida-sensei mentioned something like this before? Something about how animals react to the tone you say things in, even if they don't understand the words. Well, he was talking about Ai-chan, and not a bird or Mihashi, but it still makes sense to Takaya.

All Mihashi ever hears is noise, even if Takaya thinks that they’re speaking the same human language. What Takaya says is “take better care of yourself,” but what Mihashi hears is “you’re a failure for not taking care of yourself and I’ll never speak to you again,” because Takaya can’t help but raise his voice when he sees Mihashi do something stupid.

He’s working on it. Ever since Kazu pointed out that his voice is too scary and loud or whatever, he’s been trying, but it’s annoyingly slow progress, and until then, the truth is— 

If it wasn’t for baseball, he and Mihashi would have no words in common at all.

It makes Takaya’s insides twist in discomfort. But he doesn’t have the words for why  _ that’s  _ happening, either.

* * *

Takaya wakes to the feeling of light in his face. Ah, he never closed his blinds last night. Son of a bitch.

Wait, sunlight?

He rolls out of bed and peeks out of the window— and immediately squeezes his eyes shut. Everything in sight is covered in a layer of water droplets which means that he just got a faceful of reflected light stabbing him right in the eyes. The storm must have changed direction overnight. That's good, Takaya thinks, as he presses his palms to his eyes. It means practice won’t be cancelled.

Eyes closed, he hears a soft thump that nearly makes his heart stop. What the fuck, who— 

Oh shit, the bird. Takaya rubs the last sparks of light out of his eyes as he stumbles over to his desk.

His hands close carefully over a warm, soft bundle that starts struggling as soon as he gets a firm grip.

Underneath his fingertips, he can finally feel the bird’s heartbeat. It’s alive. It didn’t die overnight.

“Calm down, you stupid bird,” Takaya hushes it. “If I was going to hurt you, I would have done it last night.”

It’s heartbeat is staccato-sharp and light, like nothing Takaya’s ever felt before. Absently, he runs a finger over its back, still covered in the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

Actually, no. It does remind him of something, Takaya admits to himself. 

_ Clammy, and shaking, with a pulse pounding like someone’s hot on his heels. And frankly, it’s not a steady grip that Takaya could trust to pitch for him. And yet—  _

_ And _ yet— 

It is, and he did, because it’s not like that’s all there was to it. It’s not like he needed words to feel the calluses on Mihashi’s palm, that told him about hours and hours of dedication. It’s not like he needed words to know how much Mihashi wanted to pitch, even when he was shaking so badly that he could hardly stand. And it’s not like he knew any of this, at first, but he knew eventually, didn’t he?

Because... he didn’t let go. 

The bird’s stopped struggling. Takaya hardly notices.

Just because they were immediately able to connect through baseball doesn't mean that they’ll never be able to understand each other, right? If Takaya has to make the first move— if he has to wait for Mihashi to feel safe and supported— 

In a daze, he opens the window. The air is cool and sweet outside, and there’s only a few white streaks of clouds in the sky, dyed in the colors of the dawn. Takaya untangles the bird carefully and cups it in both hands. He reaches through the window. 

It tilts his head at him in that jumpy way birds do, and it twitters at him sweetly.

“Oh,  _ now _ you’re being all cutesy, huh?” Takaya says, annoyed. “Just go already.”

It tilts it’s tiny, brainless, birdy head at him again. It shifts the grip of its claws, but it still won’t leave.

"C'mon, go," Takaya says. "You’re a bird, aren’t you? So fly."

He moves his hands sharply, and the bird finally takes off in a flurry of startled wing beats. Takaya watches it as it flies off.

"See you around," Takaya says. "Or not."

* * *

At warm-ups that morning, Takaya walks up to Mihashi, and grabs his hand.

“A-abe-kun..??!”

His hand is warm and dry. 

"The upcoming game. It’s going to be a good game," Takaya says, “You got it?”

“Y-yes!”

That’s a lie. Takaya barely understands what this is himself, so how could Mihashi? But they will someday, if he just keeps moving forwards like this. Mihashi is his pitcher, so he’ll pitch. And Takaya will catch his balls.

Takaya gives Mihashi’s hand one last squeeze, like it’ll communicate everything that won’t fit into words. They’ll get there. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (early) birthday jemmmmmm!!!  
> Yes I did finally read oofuri for this. Well, I read like a couple volumes..? unfortunately I didn’t. understand a thing. (Looks off into the distance) sborts….. Has so many rules…. Every time they talk about like, the rules of the game my eyes glaze over I don’t got the vocab for this babe this is like, my limit here. But I hope I got the huwaaashuawa right!!  
> man i just realized that some how all the fic i wrote for you has beds in it i think. whys this a theme, huh?  
> I did go into this wanting to write something wrt mihashi pov because I know hes ur baby boy but, honestly. I should have fucking seen this coming. We somehow end up with matching favs so much of the time. well, i made the fic about mihashi, so i hope it counts? <:3  
> The bird in the fic is a daurian redstart (jobitaki) btw! U can look it up its v cute, and orangey brown. yes i was thinking about mihashi while choosing the bird. actually in an early idea of this fic, there was a lot more magical realism factor to it but i decided against that. kept the bird around tho!  
> anyways, love you lots!


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